


An Iconic Meeting

by HHNFanfics



Category: HHN - Fandom, Halloween Horror Nights - Fandom, Universal Studios - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5904970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HHNFanfics/pseuds/HHNFanfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paulo Ravenski is a snuff film director on a dry streak. Actors are scarce and he is itching for a new project. In his boredom, he decides to pay a visit to a nearby movie theater for some quick entertainment. </p>
<p>Julian Browning is a methodical movie theater Usher, wrapped in his routine of keeping his beautiful theater alive, even if he isn't. But thirty-two years of enforcing the rules can grow tiresome.</p>
<p>1972 is sure to be an iconic year for them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You've caught me at a bad time. If you're calling in regards to an ad in the paper, leave your number and I will get back to you when I can. Thank you for your interest"

  **BEEP**

The sound of blank tape rolling on confirmed what he already knew. _Still no takers_. It was starting to get frustrating. He had been running that ad for nearly a month now. Normally Southern California was crawling with desperate actors itching for any role, even one as sketchy as what he was offering. He turned off the answering machine and gritted his teeth. He stared at the little piece of machinery for a moment before turning on his heel and heading out of his room.

 As he neared the stairs he stopped and listened for the owner of the house. It wasn't economical to have a whole house, not in his line of work. For now he occupied the bottom floor of a three story home owned by an old lady. She fit the old lady stereotype so well it was as if she'd stepped right out of a movie. The bottom floor of the house was basically a cement basement with one corner walled off and carpeted to be a bedroom. To anyone else it probably would have been lack luster, but it was perfect for his situation. Function over form. Always.

 He didn't hear any sound from upstairs, so he quickly ascended them and entered the kitchen. Mercifully, it was empty. He shuffled over to the only appliance he really used with any regularity, the coffee machine. He closed the curtains above the sink as he waited for his breakfast. God _, it was too bright. All the time_. Despite being the place to be if you needed actors, the California weather did not sit well with him. Always hot and bright, the opposite of what he was accustomed to.

 "Paul, you downstairs?" Called a tired, frail voice. It was the owner. Her name was Ms. Stern or Strict or something like that. He could never remember her name and it was obvious that she couldn't remember his either. That was fine for both of them. "Yes" he called as he quickly stepped through the door that led to the basement and closed it behind him. He padded down the stairs and went into his small bedroom. The desk was cluttered, but there was room for his cup, which was what really mattered. He took a sip and turned on the radio. Current events didn't generally interest him, but with nothing else to do for the next five hours it would have to suffice. The broadcaster droned on about the weather for a few minutes when something caught his ear. "Tune in tonight as we discuss The Last House on the Left, a film that's rocked the boat quite a bit. Have movies finally gone too far?" _Huh, that could be interesting_. The idea of a movie that actually made it to cinemas having gone too far was comical. He quickly jotted down a note to himself and tucked it into his wallet.

 Now, to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

“Tickets please”

Two young women uncomfortably dropped their tickets into the outstretched hand of the theater attendant. His long fingers curled around the small pieces of paper. “Enjoy the picture” he nearly whispered as they hurried away from him. Just because they didn’t listen to him was no reason not to be polite. He slipped the tickets into his pants pocket as he stepped forward, the theater door closing behind him. No need to hold the door for people who were late. Why anyone would come into a movie late was beyond him, so the least he could do was give them a minor inconvenience. The lights dimmed as the projectionist began the trailer reel. He paid little attention, having already seen these trailers and the film that followed dozens of times since its release in July. He always took charge of auditoriums that were playing horror or thrillers. They were the only types of films he could stomach over and over again. This one in particular was excellent for repeat viewings because of how much it affected the audience. Their horror was almost as exciting as what was happening on screen.

Just as he was about to take his normal seat in the back row, a group of college student rushed into the theater. Julian whipped around and shined his flashlight directly at them. “Tickets… Please” he said softly. The boy in front produced five tickets and handed them to him. He eyed them for a moment and nodded. “Please be courteous to others” he whispered. They group hurried past him and took a row of empty seats in the middle of the theater. He smoothed out his jacket as he sat down and watched the opening scenes of the film. _These poor people have no idea what they’re in for._ The screening went without a hitch, although he had been sorely tempted to move closer to the group of students. One of the women was clearly very disturbed by the suffering of the protagonists at the hands of their back woods tormenters. It was deliciously entertaining.

As the credits rolled and the theater patrons rudely filed out before the end, one of the young custodians came in to clean up for the night. He uncomfortably swept the floor while Julian stared at the now blank screen. His relationship with the rest of the staff was nearly nonexistent. He remained on the payroll, although his checks were never cashed. He volunteered to close every night, making him useful enough for nobody to question his presence. Everyone knew of him but early nobody spoke to him. They simply let him do his job in peace, which he liked. To anyone else, this would probably seem odd, but he had been a part of the Universal Palace Theater for as long as anyone could remember, and nobody was comfortable enough to explore his past.

The young man hurried out once his duties were finished. Julian stepped into the lobby to watch the staff file out for the evening. Every night was bittersweet, because while he was grateful to be alone with his beloved theater, it was a shame to have to go so many hours with no films playing. Once everyone was gone, he went about his nightly routine. Every night Julian washed the windows, dusted the counters, wiped down all the handrails, and attended to any other needs his theater may have. He was determined for her legacy to live on as long as possible.

The one thing the other staff truly didn’t know was that he never left the theater. It was truly his one and only home. Ever since the incident over thirty years he simply did not leave. He had no desire or need to ever leave the theater again. He had always had a fascination with ghosts and spirits (that tends to happen when your one and only hobby is horror films) but he never could have imagined he would become something akin to one. Julian never really gave much thought to what he was. He just considered himself a passionate film fan and dedicated usher. That was all that had mattered to him before, so why should it be any different after?

Once his evening ritual was finished, he went to the staff restroom to straighten himself out before settling in for the night. Being dead was no excuse for not looking sharp for the sake of the theater. As always, his uniform was in perfect condition. Thankfully, in an attempt to maintain the classic feeling of the Palace, the higher ups had continued to issue traditional usher uniforms to all the staff. He was grateful not just for the sake of the theater, but because the high collar covered some of his more distinctive bodily markings (other than his clouded right eye), namely an irritated red bruise that encircled his throat.  Julian was sure to have his replaced every year even though it never looked worn. The only thing that wore down was his gloves, which he almost never took off and which suffered a lot of abuse. More often than not his gloves required replacement due to… staining. But as of that moment, he looked exactly as he thought he should. Although, his hair was becoming a bit long for his taste. _Amazing how even in death one has to deal with hair growth._

He left the restroom to settle into his favorite theater for the night. He sank into his traditional seat in the back row and let his eyes slowly drift out of focus until he was staring into empty space. Hours passed and his nightly muttering began. There was something comforting about his own soft voice in the silence. Despite being alone, it gave him a sense of company. As though maybe somebody was listening to the stream of consciousness that escaped his lips every night. All in all, an extremely average night in his existence.


	3. Chapter 3

The time passed quickly when he shut down his brain but let his mind run wild. It was never hard for Paulo to entertain himself when he had to. That was one of the advantages of being as unstable as he was. He had unlimited crazy to use as he pleased. Noon finally rolled around. He groaned and stood up from his desk chair, where he'd been sitting and staring into nothing for hours. He quickly threw on a button up and some black pants, lazily tucking in the shirt half way. He grabbed a much too large suit jacket as he walked out the door and slipped into it. He locked both doors behind him as he left. No reason for the old lady to think she can snoop, even if there wasn't anything down there at the moment. He hopped into his beat up Chevy and quickly got onto the road. _Time to waste my talent for money_.

Obviously it wasn't the first time an artist had done something low for money, but that didn't make it fun. At least the motel looked decent this time. He walked quickly to room 1303 and stepped through the unlocked door to the depressingly familiar scene. A man and a woman stood by the bed, idly chatting. An 8 millimeter film camera sat on a tripod at the foot of the bed, and his contract sat on it. Paulo avoided eye contact with the man and woman as he sat in a chair behind the camera. He checked to see if the film was correctly loaded (it often wasn't) and was pleased to see it ready to go. "Go on." He said in a dry tone before sarcastically mumbling "Show me fuck”. That’s all they could really do. They couldn’t act and they certainly weren’t worth killing. His stars needed to have something special. An onscreen death was only impactful if the person dying had a presence to begin with. These two were doing this for the same reason he did. Easy and decent money.

He motioned to the bed. The man and woman looked at each other and began to strip. He locked the trigger in place and tried to focus on the pleasant clicking of the film rather than the cringe worthy scene before him. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and began reviewing his contract. In these situations he was little more than a cameraman, but it paid relatively well for how little he had to work. Not many people wanted to do it, so the agency kept anyone who would stick around well compensated.

Unfortunately it was a lot harder to be freelancing drifter in the states than Europe. And as boring and unnatural as it was, he couldn't turn down a check that would allow him to do what really mattered for only a few days of his time a month. He made it down to the dotted line at the bottom and signed with one of his many names. At this point he wasn't completely sure what his real name even was as his list of aliases had grown to over six since his immigration.

As they droned on he began to let his mind wander to what this scene could be. Sex was deeply important to cinema. It was so primal and so often full of fear. _So much opportunity for a better kind of discomfort. A disorienting discomfort. Low angles, tense music, dark lighting, a knife, a scream, a stab, a stab, a stab, a stab, blood, the thump of her body hitting the floor._ He envisioned the scene in a larger context. Why did he kill her? Was she an adulteress? Was he sick of her? Was he just crazy? Perhaps she had just broken his heart and he wasn’t willing to let her go just yet. It could be a revenge story…

"Um, we’re finished" Paulo's eyes quickly opened. They’d slipped shut while he daydreamed _.  How much time had passed? Twenty minutes already?_ He never signed on to film anything longer than that. He wouldn’t be able to stomach the sounds for that long. The girl was sitting on the edge of the bed, redressing herself. Hers had been the voice that ruined his moment. He nodded and freed the trigger on the camera. The film stopped and he stood up. He packed the Bolex up in its case and left it on the bed next to the actor. He would take it back to the agency to be "edited".  He left the contract on top of that and rushed to his car. He sped back home to write down everything he'd thought about during his utterly dull afternoon.


	4. Chapter 4

Paulo stared at his small shelf of cameras. The three of them stared right back at him. It deeply saddened him to see them out of use for so many weeks. He wished it was as easy as just kidnapping someone and forcing them into his film, but that wasn't right. The process had to happen naturally, otherwise he'd be left with nothing but a collection of death scenes performed by unwilling participants. While that wasn't totally a negative, (he had lots of those already) it was much better to have footage before the fear kicked in. Contrast was the key to horror.

 

He glanced at the never used alarm clock on his night stand. _Already ten?_ His mind had only just begun to slow down from the days excitement. He stood up from his chair (which he had been sitting in, gazing into thin air for hours) and quickly changed into some old pajamas. Even in the August heat he preferred to have his arms and legs covered at all times. It made him feel less vulnerable despite being relatively short and light. Why he was going to bed he had no idea. There were only two outcomes. One, he lies awake all night, taunted by what he could be doing. Or two, in fitful bursts of nightmare fueled sleep. Ironically, his nightmares often consisted of him being the victim in his own films. He supposed this could be the fabled conscience he had heard about, but he was content to keep that secluded to his sleep. In a rare turn of events, he drifted off relatively quickly and only woke up twice. Of course, when five am rolled around he was awake for good, but seven hours was more than enough in his mind. He quickly snuck up the stairs to get to the coffee machine. It would be hours before the owner was awake. He brewed a pot, poured a mug, and silently slipped out to the front porch to enjoy it.

 

Few things brought him pleasure outside of his work, but a scalding cup of coffee and time alone did. The sun hadn't even begun to rise yet. _Perfect._ The sun began to slowly appear as his coffee vanished. He went in and poured another cup, but just as he stepped outside he heard something. Soft panting and footsteps hitting the pavement of the road. Out of the grey came a jogger, briskly working his way down the street. Alone. When nobody was awake or outside. Paulo watched as he came towards the house. His heart sped up. He knew he could do it. _Run downstairs, grab a handkerchief, douse it in chloroform, run behind him, knock him out, drag him in, get back to work..._ "Mornin!" His eyes snapped back into focus. The jogger waved as he scurried by the porch. Paulo's face maintained its normal expression of tired irritation as he nodded at the tubby man running by. As soon as the man was out of earshot he sighed loudly and went back inside. He bypassed the coffee machine and made a beeline downstairs to his room. He glanced at the clock as he hurriedly lifted the eight millimeter projector off its shelf and carried it into the unfurnished part of the basement. He slammed it on a beat up work table he had in place just for this use. His small hands clumsily put the pieces together as his mind raced with what to watch. He needed a fix badly _. So many options, god what to choose_?

 

Paulo Ravenski, despite considering himself one of the greatest film makers of all time, only had a few full length films to his name. Often the urge to kill his actors would overpower his desire to actually make a cohesive story, leaving him with dozens of unconnected death scenes. It never bothered him that his portfolio was relatively small. He didn't have anyone to impress but himself, and there were always other films he could squeeze those scenes into. Everything had a place eventually.

 

He finally settled on the set of reels titled "Constance's Last Cries". He was quite fond of wordplay and most of his films had some kind of pun or alliteration in the title. He slipped the reels onto the projector, hands almost shaking in anticipation. He rushed to the far wall to turn off the lights, not thinking about having to find his way back to the table and chair in pitch blackness. After fumbling around a bit, he found the projector and flicked the switch. It flickered to life and he sunk into the directors chair he had set up. It made the movies feel more real. Paulo's eyes glowed with joy as he watched the silent footage of a young woman sitting at a table. She had dark, curly hair and had a bohemian style. He remembered her well. Constance had been perky and excited to be in his "student film". She didn't even question why they were filming in abandoned restaurant. She smiled as she delivered her lines and sipped on the glass of orange juice he had given her. Unbeknownst to her, there was strychnine in the glass as well. The minutes ticked by as the glass slowly drained and her line delivery became more uncomfortable. The clichéd dialogue slowed and her face began to pale. It looked gorgeous in the bright sunlight from the huge windows in the restaurant. He had chosen that location just for that light. The only sound in the room was the soft ticking of the projector and Paulo's slightly elevated breathing. Constance began asking to stop. Said she felt light headed. He remembered exactly what she sounded like _. So disappointed_. His own hand entered the frame as he urged her to keep going.

 

“Go on, go on. Your performance is to _die for”_  

 

She grabbed her throat and began to gasp, her free hand smacking on the table in distress. He stepped towards her, pushing the camera towards her face. Her eyes showed real fear as the convulsions began.

 

He'd had a variety of poisons in mind, but strychnine had the appeal of being exceptionally violent. The person ingesting it wouldn't just asphyxiate, they would also convulse until their own muscles gave out. He watched, perched on the edge of his seat as the shot came in close on her face. She had tried to stand up but had fallen in the process. She was writhing on the floor, her and reaching out to him. His feet entered the bottom of the frame as he stood over her, his feet parallel with her thighs, and held on her face as she choked. Her legs kicked and her face contorted into something that, in the silence of his makeshift screening room, could be mistaken for ecstasy.  It was only a few more minutes until she lie still, her eyes frozen in fear. The frame shook slightly due to his excitement when filming it. Paulo knelt down, straddling her to get the perfect shot. His hand entered the frame again as he gently gripped her chin. He turned her head side to side, showing off every angle of her frozen expression. The image rose as he stood up and got one last wide shot.

 

“Cut”

 

He remembered vividly how exciting it had been. His first kill in America. It was an incredible thrill and more than made up for the months he'd been dry. Back in his basement screening room, Paulo leaned back in his chair and listened to the end of the reel flip along. The flicker of the projector was his favorite type of lighting. He didn't enjoy movies from Hollywood, but less than a year earlier a film had come out and caused quite a stir. He often liked to see movies that riled the masses up. It was bitterly funny how tame they often were. In the movie, a boy said something like "it's funny how the colors of the real world only seem really real when you viddy them on the screen". And while Paulo thought the fake language was unnecessary, the violence was brutal and gritty. Some of the better he'd seen from a mainstream picture, although still not perfect. He related to the protagonist though. There was something more relatable in the frames of a film than through his own eyes. As though life was meant to be seen in retrospect. He relished the days when he could be alone and watch his own films. It was almost as good as making them.


	5. Chapter 5

Paulo’s little film festival lasted all day and well into the night. Once four am rolled around he decided to call it a day and attempt to sleep. Unlike the night prior, he was not so successful. He was still high from his marathon of memories. The itch was getting harder not to scratch. If he didn’t get a response in the next few days he was going to have to take drastic measures. He lay awake until the sun rose, his mind alight with concepts. _How beautiful human combustion would be on camera. Hollywood explosions are too big, too vague. If a real person were caught by an exploding car they would suffer tremendously. Burning flesh, hopeless screams, aimless flailing…_

 

The sound of footsteps above his head snapped him out of his trance. Sounded like the owner was awake. _It must be Sunday._ She was only ever up early on Sundays, when she had friends over for breakfast. This was as good a time as any to escape. He got out of bed and glanced at himself in the mirror on the far wall. He had ultimately gone to bed still in his dress pants and shirt. After the excitement of the day he looked even worse than normal. His shirt was wrinkled and his hair had fallen into his face. His dark circles had intensified, which only exaggerated his pale irises. He quickly gelled his hair to the side and threw on a jacket. H ascended the stairs halfway before stopping to listen. It sounded like she was still alone. He rushed up the rest of the stairs and flung the door open. The woman jumped with fright before gasping in pain. He smiled almost devilishly. This wasn’t the first time he’d startled her into burning herself. It was the little things that kept him “sane”.

 

“Sorry” he said as he locked the door. Even she noticed the lack of remorse in his voice. “It’s alright, just please open the door more gently next time” she sighed as she rinsed her hand under cold water. “I’ll remember that” he said quickly as he walked through the living room and out the door. Even a sadistic act as small as that added some pep to his step. He grabbed the Sunday paper from the driveway before sliding into his car. He drove to one of the only places he ever frequented, a nameless little café downtown. He parked in his normal place, took his normal table, and ordered his normal drink. While he waited on his coffee and milk he flipped open the notebook he’d brought in from his car. It was full of ideas, sketches, dialogue, and even a few newspaper clippings about his victims. Lady Luck had smiled on him and he had never had a run in with the law, but that didn’t mean nobody noticed when his actors went missing. He turned to a clean page and began to outline all his ideas from the previous night. It felt good to be doing something and to be out of the house. Over the next several hours he filled over a dozen pages and drank six cups of coffee. By one pm he was spent. All his ideas were on the page now. _If only I could get them to the screen so easily._ He ordered one last drink to have while he flipped through the paper. He chuckled at his own ad in the classified ads.

 

**You Oughta Be In Pictures.**

Wanted: Actors and Actresses for an amateur horror film. Willing to work days and nights. No experience required. Memorable scream desirable, but not necessary.

 

He had thought the reference to the classic song was quite clever. Part of him also hoped it would attract people with a predisposition to film. He turned the page to the entertainment section. As he skimmed the print, the show times for a large local theater caught his eye.

 

Last House On The Left. 3:00, 6:00

 

We apologize for the misprint last week. There was a delay in shipping and the film has arrived several days late. We apologize for the inconvenience.

 

Paulo scoffed at the note. _What kind of established theater starts a films run on a Sunday?_ Despite the fact that he already saw this theater as a joke, he was intrigued. He remembered hearing about this movie on the radio. That it was some kind of horrifying exploitation of humanity. _There are far worse ways to spend an afternoon._ He jotted the address of the theater onto a napkin before heading back to his car. It was a bit of a drive from his part of town, but it was the only one showing this particular film. His normal theater was a seedy little duplex near the café, its only downside being how long it took movies to get there due to the small number of screens. He began the thirty minute drive to The Universal Palace Theater. _What a pompous name._


	6. Chapter 6

Twelve pm. The last showing of Deliverance. Julian was only a little disappointed seeing how it was being replaced with a new horror film he had been anticipating for months. The shipping mix up had infuriated him, but it was only a certain litterbug woman who had suffered for it. The final screening was going perfectly until about forty minutes in. A few quiet comments could be forgiven, but the couple three rows ahead of him seemed to mistake a few for a few dozen. Their jabbering was ruining his last chance to enjoy the movie and he couldn’t shake his discomfort at their physical closeness. They acted like newlyweds, constantly exchanging kisses and always entwined in some fashion. It made him very uncomfortable. Physical and especially sexual contact was something that Julian was both unfamiliar and uncomfortable with. He had always been a somewhat solitary creature and the idea of sharing any part of himself (sexual or otherwise) was so foreign that he never thought about it outside of his movies.  

 

Julian gripped his flashlight in irritation as he strode towards them. They both jumped when the bright light hit their eyes. “Please be quiet so other guests can enjoy the picture” he breathed. “There’s only a few other people in here, I don’t think anyone cares” the man said condescendingly. Julian’s anger quickly escalated.  He turned on his heel, intending to give them one last chance and wanting to just watch the movie in peace. _Don’t ruin both of our days._

 

 “He needs to relax” the man muttered as the usher turned away from him.

 

Julian did an instant one-eighty. “I’m going to have to escort you out” he said  calmly in spite of how furious he was. Almost too calmly. The woman looked instantly uncomfortable as she made eye contact with him. The man threw up his hands. “Fine, we’ll just go. Movie wasn’t doing it for us anyways”. The usher followed the couple into the corridor. “May I have a word before you go?” he said, placing a firm hand on the mans shoulder. “Oh my god, Amanda, just go to the car. I’ll be out in a few minutes”. She rolled her eyes but didn’t protest. “Okay, what do you want?” The irritation was more than apparent in his voice and face. “I want to show you something” Julian said as he pushed the man towards the projector room. Not wanting a fight, he allowed himself to go into the small, dark room. “Alright, what’s in here for me to see?”

 

The door swung closed as Julian gripped his flashlight with both gloved hands . _How could anybody sit in a film like this and make jokes? How dare he disrespect the film and those who want to enjoy it? HOW?_

 

The head of the flashlight made quick and hard contact with the mans head.  He fell to the ground and flipped over. His plan to kick the usher failed as the flashlight smashed into his face. Julian saw red, not just from the blood that had now splattered the bulb of his flashlight, casting a red light over the crime scene before him, but with pure anger. He had seen so many theaters full of people respectfully watch this movie and today the last day of its run, and somebody had to come and be so rude. Julian gave the man two more swift whacks before stepping back to breathe. The man didn’t scream, but he loudly gasped for air as he lay on the floor. Julian raised his index finger to his lips, wetting them with blood from his gloves.

 

“Shhhhhhh”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for missing last thursdays post! I fell down the stairs in my apartment and had to go to the hospital. But, I'm fine now and I'll post an extra chapter this week to make up for it.

“One for Last House on The Left”

              

  Paulo slid two crumpled dollar bills to the stocky bearded man in the box office. “You sure?” he asked jokingly as he put away the money and produced a small white ticket. “I’ve heard some pretty outrageous things about it”. Paulo palmed the ticket before making brief eye contact with the man. “That’s the point.”

 

He stepped into the theater lobby and took it all in. The bright lights, the ornate staircases, the over dressed ushers. It was all so… _Gaudy. Where the movie is doesn’t matter. What it is is what matters._

 

He handed his ticket to the tired looking woman at the podium and headed up the stairs to theater seven. It was still forty minutes until the movie started but he was happy about that. He was certain to get a seat alone. As he approached the door it opened and out stepped another theater usher. He was tall and thin as a rail with long arms and legs. “Ticket please”. His words were elongated and light just like the gloved fingers that were now pointed straight as Paulo’s chest. He fished the ticket out of his pocket and lightly dropped it into his hand. “Enjoy the feature” he said with a smile as Paulo strode away from the uncomfortable eye contact. He paid the interaction little thought as he took a seat in the middle of the back row. It was another ten minutes before anyone else arrived. He listened as the usher repeat the same, awkward interaction. By the time three rolled around about two dozen people had found seats in the theater, thankfully not in the back row. That changed when the trailers ended and the usher from the door took a seat at the end of the row. He didn’t mind too much, _ushers probably hate having to sit through shit movie after shit movie._

 

It wasn’t long into the movie that the controversy started to show its face. It was all very fake, but he appreciated its courage for a Hollywood production. The discomfort in the room was palpable, except from the back row. It was hard to miss how enraptured this usher was with the movie. His relaxed posture quickly shifted to intense concentration, his whole body leaning towards the screen. His fists clenched in anticipation and his body subtly jerked every time something excited happened. Paulo had never seen someone watch a movie with that level outside of him watching his own films. The usher started to become more entertaining than the film itself. Paulo’s eyes began to give him and the screen almost equal attention. _Who jerks with excitement during an onscreen murder?_ He knew that his level of adoration for filmed violence was abnormal. He almost wished the theater was brighter so he could see the mans expressions. By the climax, Paulo was sure the usher was going to cheer with excitement. His excitement greatly heightened Paulo’s excitement during the movie. He was positive that the usher let out a loud sign or relief when the chainsaw made contact with a character that Paulo couldn’t care less about. The movie had taken a backseat to the antics of this lunatic. When the credits began to roll, the tall man stood up, straightened his hat, brushed himself off and went to the back of the theater to hold the door open. As Paulo Walked towards the door, he could see small drops of sweat on the mans face. “Goodbye and have a nice day” he said softly as Paulo passed. He slowed down and took in more of the usher. I was impossible to place his age, but he wore the outdated uniform in a way that nobody else seemed to. As though he was simply meant to wear it.

 

“You too” Paulo said quickly as he sped back up and walked out the door. His drive home was full of questions, not about the movie, but about the bizarre spectacle that had taken place several seats away. He knew that normal audiences would get excited during movies, but not movies like that. He had seen reactions to his own films that ranged from disgust to outrage and while this movie was much more tame, it still wasn’t a reaction that was common. He headed straight to his room, away from the brightness of the rest of the house. Out of habit he pressed play on the answering machine.

 

You've caught me at a bad time. If you're calling in regards to an ad in the paper, leave your number and I will get back to you when I can. Thank you for your interest"

 

**BEEP**

 

“Hi, my name is Heather, I uh, I saw an ad in the paper looking for actresses and I’d definitely be interested in auditioning. You can contact me at…”

Paulo had stopped listening as soon as she’d said she was interested. A wave of relief and adrenaline washed over him as he sunk into his desk chair.

“Finally”


	8. Chapter 8

Julian stood in the back of theater seven, breathing heavily as he tried to compose himself. Dealing with rude patrons made any day more exciting for him. It was something of a thrill to know that man would never ruin another movie again. The body was safely hidden in an unused closet ready to be disposed of after closing that night. The past few hours had only gotten him more anxious for the new movie that was to start in less than an hour. He absent mindedly spun his flashlight as he prepared to open the doors. _Hopefully we can avoid a repeat of this afternoon. This is a picture I don’t want to miss._

 

A small man in an ill fitted suit was already walking towards the door. Julian had something of a soft spot for people who came to horror movies alone. After all, that was what he did every day. He took the mans ticket and continued waiting on other guests. As soon as the trailers ended, he took his usual seat and settled in for the movie.

 

It was fantastic. So intense and grimy. A truly terrifying picture. Julian couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed a film so much, and he hadn’t seen an audience that uncomfortable since A Clockwork Orange. The blood seemed so real and the fear was electric. It didn’t take long, however, for him to notice the man further down his row glancing at him. He paid it no mind at first, but as time went by he noticed the dark haired man looking at him more often than the movie. Julian knew he could be animated when he was enjoying himself, but was it really worth missing this incredible movie for?

 

He tried to ignore him and focused intently on the film. He was already excited to see it again and again. By the end he was nearly overcome with emotion. The blood and action gave him life and energy, both things he rarely felt since 1940. As the credits rolled he stood up and tried to compose himself. In his excitement his hat had fallen to the side and his jacket had become wrinkled. When he had calmed down a bit, he hurried back to the door to let the audience go. Julian wasn’t sure how to react to the voyeuristic man as he strode out of the dark theater towards him. He held the man’s gaze for several seconds as he left.  He could only describe his face as focused. Focused on something that wasn’t even there. Julian never felt unnerved by others, but something about his light, tired eyes mixed with his perpetually intense expression made him uneasy. “Goodbye, and have a nice day” he said as the man walked away.

 

Julian continued his day like normal, but he couldn’t get over the staring man. He was so accustomed to blending in, to almost being a part of the theater himself that for anyone to pay attention to him was unsettling. Despite the lingering confusion, he enjoyed watching the film again and absorbing all the energy it produced in its audience. Fear was a powerful motivator and he found greater joy in sitting among the frightened for a few hours than anything else. Except maybe his love affair with the theater itself. He spent his lonely night pacing up and down the stairs in the lobby, his long fingers trailing along the banister with the same care one would caress a lovers face. It was calming to him. The one constant in a life full of… confusion.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Heather’s call came at the perfect time. Every month the owner of the house would take a weekend trip up north to visit her son and that weekend was coming in five days. Paulo spent the whole night pouring over his notes. He’d made so many since his last shoot that he wasn’t even sure what he was going to do. _Stabbing, suffocating, electrocution, hanging, fire… No, no fire. Not in the house. Something easy to clean, something classic..Something new, something old, something borrowed, something blue… No, something red._

He finally settled on an idea that had come to him some months ago in the coffee shop. He hadn’t seen Heather, but she sounded perfect for the role. When the clock finally read a time that was appropriate to call someone, Paulo snatched up the phone and hastily dialed the number she had left. It rung three times before she answered. Enough times that he almost became nervous. “Hi, this is Heather speaking, who is calling?” She sounded just as good as she had on her message. Young and with a soft voice. “You called me about the ad in the paper. You’re an actress?” She paused for a moment. “Oh right! I called yesterday. You didn’t leave a name with your ad so I was a little confused.” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, well I’m glad you’re interested. What’s the soonest you can meet with me to go over the part”. _Please say today._ “I’m actually free all afternoon if that’s not too soon.” _Oh yes._ “Perfect.”

 

He turned his chair to face the mirror on the wall while he absent mindedly gave her the address of his coffee shop. He was worried that he would look uninviting in his mad state, but quite the opposite was true. He looked alive.

 

“Oh, before I go, what _is_ your name?” His mind raced for a moment as he tried to answer. What was his name at this point?

“Paulo. Paulo Ravenski”

 

Once the call ended he began to quickly rewrite his notes in a separate notebook. One that was a bit less graphic. She would be playing Sara, a girl with big dreams but no future, not unlike Heather herself. The character didn’t matter nearly as much as the motivation. The more hopeful she seemed the more dramatic her demise.

 

He pulled up to the café perfectly on time. For once it had been easy to keep track of time. It was a lull in the afternoon so the table he’d told her he would be at was empty. He sat down and began the agonizing wait. _What if she’s not interested? What if she’s hideous? What if she can’t act for shit? Well… That can be worked on…_

“Um, Paul…O?”

He slowly raised his head to make eye contact with her. She was short with a boyish figure. Her hair was a light brown and reached all the way to her waist. Her face was, mercifully, lovely with tanned skin and dark brown eyes. _Oh, oh Heather._ He stood up and looked down on her. She was several inches shorter than him. He could tell that she was slightly unnerved by how close he was standing to her and quickly remedied that by stepping to the side to pull her chair out. “Have a seat Miss Heather..?” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and sat down. “Oh, Torrance. Heather Torrance.” Paulo took his seat facing her and leaned in to get a good look at her. Even in the poor lighting of the coffee shop he could tell she would work out perfectly. She was pretty, but in a tangible way. She was relatable. “Heather Torrance… Are you ready to see your name in the credits of my work?” He said almost absent mindedly as he stared at her. She shifted in her seat and gave a small laugh. “I don’t wanna get ahead of myself. Don’t I need to audition or…” Paulo slammed his hand on the table, visibly startling her. “Miss Torrance, I wouldn’t even dream of subjecting you to an audition. You are absolutely. Perfect.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper on the last word. “Well I’m flattered, but I don’t even know what kind of movie this is.” A grin slipped across Paulo’s face. “It’s a horror movie. I want you for a supporting role. An easy shoot, one or two days… maximum.”

 

  _It would be a miracle if you lasted more than a few hours once I get my hands on you._

“Oh I love scary movies! Do I get to die?” she said with a flirty smile. “Oh yes Miss Torrance. You _definitely_ get to die.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Friday came and the old lady left. Heather wouldn’t arrive until that evening. She’d seemed skeptical at first coming to his house at night, but she was intrigued by his passion. It didn’t hurt that Paulo always gave plenty of positive attention to his actresses. Few women could say no to someone who was so genuinely interested in them, even if the interest was as demented as his own.

He had the basement set up perfectly for the scene. Two crisp white sheets covered one of the walls with another on the floor under a plain wooden chair that had been hastily painted white as well. He’d had a vision of how elegant this would look in a stark white environment and paired with the fluorescent lights on the ceiling made for an almost clinical background. One camera sat, wound and loaded on a tripod directly in front of the chair. Another sat on the ground for more intimate shots. Just out of frame was a chest of drawers, filled with his other toys.

It was just minutes till seven. He knew she would be on time. He quickly stepped into his room to look himself over one last time. As was often the case, he would be appearing in his own film out of necessity. It was a rare treat when his actors would kill themselves, or better yet die at the hands of another actor. No, most of the time he acted as the catalyst for the action. His hair was slicked down into its natural part and his eyes were wide with excitement.  He was a few days behind on shaving but he didn’t mind. The stubble helped to offset his ever darkening under eye circles. He wore a fresh shirt and suit, still a tad too large for him. _It’ll do._

Just as he finished tucking in his shirt the doorbell rang.  He felt a shot of adrenaline rush through him. His heart rate increased slightly as he took the stairs two at a time to get to the door. He abruptly yanked it open, startling her again. Paulo felt her nerves already building and it was truly thrilling. “Hello, I guess I found the house okay!” She gave a nervous laugh and stepped inside. “Wow, this isn’t what I was expecting at all…” she mumbled as she stepped into the living room. “I didn’t decorate.” He said, closing and locking the front door behind her. Paulo strode past her and stopped in front of the basement door. “The light downstairs is the brightest in the house. Perfect for doing a few scream tests.” He smiled to himself as he opened the door and gestured for her to go down first. “Very funny” she groaned as she began her descent. _Awful trusting, isn’t she?_ Paulo stepped through the door behind her and quietly closed the combination padlock on the door. She didn’t even notice.

 

“Please, have a seat miss Torrance.” She nodded and sat in the white chair. He positioned himself behind the tripod and leaned in to gaze at her through the viewfinder. One of the less celebrated aspects of film making was the ability to stare at people for as long as you wanted without question. The human form was so fascinating and it was impossible to stare at someone for so long without the aid of a camera. He grinned as she came into focus. Her sunflower yellow dress and light hair looked perfect against the stark white backdrop. _I won’t even have to make her change. What a useful girl._

 

“Alright Miss Torrance. Give me the first line on the script I gave you.” She cleared her throat and pushed back her hair. “Oh god, I don’t want to die!” she said nervously. He smiled and nodded. “Good, now try it like it was really happening.” Heather blushed slightly. He could almost taste her nerves. “OH GOD, I don’t want to die!” his smile widened. “Excellent, now one more time…” he pulled the trigger on the camera, the familiar ticking filling the room. “…Like I was going to kill you right now.”

 

“OH GOD, I don’t want TO DIE!”

 

Paulo’s eyes rolled back for a split second before they snapped back into contact with hers, through the lens of the camera. His teeth were completely exposed halfway between a smile and a snarl. Heather finally noticed the sound of the camera as her line echoed into nothingness. “Oh, I didn’t realize we were filming yet…” The camera clicked as he released the trigger. Paulo stepped around the tripod and took slow, deliberate steps towards her. “You should get used to it, Heather. Stars always have a camera in their face.” She straightened her back as crouched down, becoming eye level with her in the chair. “If that makes you uncomfortable then maybe you should consider another career.” She stood up before he could lean any closer. “This” she gestured to him “is all that’s making me uncomfortable. I don’t think I’m interested anymore.” Paulo straightened up and smiled. “I understand Miss Torrance. Feel free to call me another time.” She held eye contact with him for a moment before stepping around him and walking briskly towards the stairs. Paulo sighed quietly as he turned around to pick up his other camera. He walked silently behind her and watched from the base of the stairs. “Um, what’s with the lock?” she asked, tugging on the door.

 

His finger squeezed the grip of his camera as he pressed in the trigger. “Think of is as a contract Heather. You don’t leave until the scene is finished.”  She whipped around to look at him at the base of the stairs. The color had already begun to drain from her face. “This isn’t funny. I want to go. Now.” Paulo lowered the camera to his chest. “I never said I was making a comedy…” He lifted his leg and placed it two steps up. His camera arm rested on it as he focused in on her face. “…I’m making a horror movie.” He began to take the stairs two at a time, zeroing in on her face. Heather leaned against the door for a moment before darting back down the stairs, past the director. She ran to the opposite wall and watched with fear and confusion as he turned back around and continued towards her, camera in hand. “What the hell are you doing?!” He released the trigger on the camera. “I’m trying to make a movie. A movie that you’re in. a movie that requires you to sit in that chair and to do. What. I. Say.” His voice was cold and demanding. She didn’t know what to do. That door was the only was in or out. No windows, not even one she could scream through. “There’s no way out of here Heather. And you can’t over power me. We both know that.” Her eyes darted around helplessly. “Sit down, finish the scene, and then you can go. Easy as that.” She continued to look around frantically until he stepped towards her, placing one hand on her shoulder. He gripped it tightly as he turned her and began pushing her back towards the chair. She stumbled, but never broke eye contact with him. It was exhilarating.

 

Heather plopped into the chair with defeat. She knew as well as he did that he had the upper hand. His shooting plans were always air tight. There was no room for mistake in film. Paulo kept eye contact with her while he stepped to his chest of drawers. He pulled out a few coils of hardware store rope. He gingerly set down his camera by the tripod before kneeling down in front of Heather. She watched in terror as one of his hands pushed her leg against the leg of the chair before quickly securing it there with one of the thin pieces of rope. He could feel her trying to formulate a plan of escape. _Don’t even bother._ He began to push her other ankle towards the other chair leg. She pushed back. “Don’t worry Miss Torrance. I’m not going to assault you” he said with an eye roll as he easily over powered her and tied off her other foot. He stood up tall before framing the shot with his hands and slowly stepping backwards. She hated the way his hands hid everything but his eyes.

 

“Now, Miss Torrance. For the rest of our time together, I want you do what I say. I’m a very actor friendly director. I want you to keep me updated on how you’re feeling.” She had begun to cry. Paulo peered through the viewfinder affixed on the tripod. “Perfect! Just like that.” He locked the trigger down. “Action!” He pointed at her and she continued her silent crying, her hands hanging limp at her side. “Come on, Heather. Give me more.” She cried harder. Paulo stepped out from behind the camera to look at her. She stared back and one large tear rolled down her cheek. He nodded and began pacing back to the drawers. “Excellent Heather.” He pulled open the second drawer. “Now, we need some more action.” He lifted out a small, shiny knife. Her sniveling shifted to full on sobbing. He stepped over to her, his posture becoming straighter as he entered the frame. “Shhh, don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you with this.” He held the handle out toward her. “Go on, take it.” She hesitated for a moment before reaching out and taking the knife. Paulo nodded and took a few steps back. “This scene is exceedingly simple, Heather. I want you to do these things in this order.” He lifted up his hand and began to count off her instructions. “First, I want you to put that in your lap. Next, I want you to braid your hair. Finally, I want you to use that” he gestured to the blade. “And cut off your hair.” He couldn’t help but smile as a whole range of emotions flashed across her face. Fear, sadness, relief, determination. He had only come up with this scene the night before and she was reacting just as he’d hoped. _Smart enough not to ask questions, dumb enough to think this is it._

She followed his instructions to a tee, only stopping to wipe tears off her face. Her hands shook, but her face showed courage. Paulo watched silently as she lifter the knife to the base of the braid. “Miss Torrance, before you finish… What are you thinking about right now?” Her eyes met his again for the first time since he’d tied her down. “That I don’t want to do this but I also want to finish the… scene.” She almost winced on the last word. “Perfect.” He whispered as she slowly sawed off her hair. As she cut the last strands she dropped the knife. It landed on top of the long braid on the white floor. She stared into the distance, probably trying to distract herself from losing one of her favorite traits. Paulo continued to smile as he stepped back into frame to retrieve the braid. He tossed it aside walking back to the drawers. Heather’s eyes followed him like a hawk. “Now Heather, we have one last scene to do before you’re gone. And I need you to really give it your heart. Make me believe you.” She continued watching him as he walked back towards her, another length of rope in hand. She didn’t struggle when he tied her hands behind her back. “Standby to show me _fear.”_ He whispered as he walked away from her. He circled behind the tripod, picking up the free camera as he passed. He began filming as soon as he reached the drawers for a final time. He could see the resignation in her face. _She knows._

She began to panic as he slowly and deliberately stepped towards her, the much larger knife glinting in the bright overhead lights. She was shaking and crying and _god this will look great._ He sat the camera on the floor, facing her feet and stood behind her to run a hand through her short, choppy hair. Her silent panic abruptly turned into screams. “HELP, PLEASE OH GOD HEL-“ He placed a hand over her mouth, tightly gripping her jaw. Paulo crouched down to speak directly into her ear, his hand still clenching her jaw shut. “Heather, your voice will never be loud enough to carry outside. Don’t bother.” He let her mouth go. She stopped screaming, but her breathing was frantic. He stood back up, his left hand trailed over her face before resting on her scalp. Paulo closed his eyes and took a few long breaths, gently massaging her head as his chest rose and fell. After what felt like an eternity, his fist tightened on a clump of her hair. She began to hyperventilate. “Oh god, oh god, oh god I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die…” He rested the blade on her throat.

 

_Aww. She remembered her lines._

“Maybe if you’d delivered that with this much conviction earlier I wouldn’t have to motivate you so hard.”

 

He pressed the knife against her throat and slowly turned her head with his fist. As soon as she began to bleed he dropped the knife and picked up his camera, focusing in on her face. She couldn’t speak, but she stared into the lens of the camera and gasped for a few moments, before falling completely silent. He followed a drop of blood down her throat, down her chest, and into the cotton fabric of her blouse. He panned back up to her face, now frozen in shock. He reached out to push a strand of still long hair out of her face. Paulo held on her face for a few more moments before releasing the trigger on his camera.

 

“Cut.”


	11. Chapter 11

Clean up. A bittersweet process. Paulo couldn’t deny that it was fun to play with the body. He loved getting pick up shots and using corpses like props, but most of the fun was gone when they couldn’t fight back. By two am, Heather was evenly distributed between three black trash bags that lined the far wall of the basement. Another half hour and the only evidence of the scene was a small bloodstain on the third stair. Hard to clean blood off of unfinished wood.

 

The director stepped into his room to finish up the last of his responsibilities. He gently removed the  film from his cameras and tucked it away in a drawer to be developed. There were a few little red dots on his handheld camera, but Paulo decided to leave them there. _No reason to try and forget so soon. Besides, it adds character to them._

 

As he stepped away from his shelves, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. _Oh my god, I look insane._ He giggled and centered his reflection. His normally perfectly parted hair was wild, sticking out in several directions while a few strands stuck to his forehead with a mixture of seat and blood. More little red spots dotted the side of his face as a result of his rather vigorous dismemberment process. Moving down, his shirt was half untucked and also sprinkled with blood. _What will I tell the cleaner this time?_

He smiled at himself for a  few more seconds before running a red stained hand through his hair and turning on his heel towards the door. Just as he reached his door, he paused. On a whim, he turned back around and grabbed his hand held camera and took it upstairs with him. Paulo impatiently stared at the coffee machine until the pot was full. He grabbed the whole pot and a mug and headed to the front porch. He sat on the ground, his back to the house and the front obscured by the railing. It was late, but he wasn’t one to risk being seen. The moon was just a sliver in the sky, but the stars cut through the cloudless sky like tiny pinholes.

 

Paulo didn’t consider himself a smoker, but on a night like this he couldn’t resist. _May as well indulge myself to the fullest._ He poured his first cup of coffee and retrieved his lighter and pack of cigarettes from an unused flower pot on the other side of the porch. He took a long drag before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. He smiled to himself as he exhaled, realizing how post-coital this all was. The fingers of his left hand trailed up and down the cold metal of his camera while he slowly worked his way through his coffee and the pack of cigarettes. _Why would anyone bother with sex when they could have this? The pure satisfaction of creating something. The pure satisfaction of owning someone’s life. Surly this isn’t unique. There have to be other people who feel this way. Not brute killers, but people who can see the art in death._

An hour passed and Paulo never opened his eyes. The visions behind his eyelids were much lovelier than anything he saw outside. He relived Heather’s final moments over and over in his head, trying to memorize the evening. It was always fun to compare his memories to the facts of the film. Slowly, as the minutes ticked past, his fingers began to wrap around the grip of his camera. It wasn’t long until he had brought the camera to his chest, his other hand resting on the front of it and holding it to him. He opened his eyes and leaned his head forward, his lips pressing against the metal casing of his electronic eyes. He sat like that, nicotine, adrenaline, and caffeine pumping through him, until the sun rose. Paulo eventually drifted back downstairs and into his bed. There was something oddly comforting about laying in the darkness with his camera by his side. It was the only thing that he could completely relate to.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Paulo woke up just after eleven. A normal person would be exhausted after what he had been through and with so little sleep, but not him. He sprung out of bed, still burning from his successful shoot the day before. It would still be a few days before the high wore off and he went back to the dreadful waiting game. _I can’t wait that long again._

 

He ascended the stairs and made himself some coffee, trying to think of something to do to pass the time. _Can’t kill anyone… Don’t need money right now so no fucking… Edit old footage? No, I need a change of pace…_ He sipped on his scalding drink while filing through possibilities for the afternoon. Then it struck him. _I could see if that usher is still as weird as last time._

 

Paulo gulped down the last of his coffee before running downstairs to change into something less… red. He admired himself in the mirror, humored at the fact that he slept in a bloodstained suit yet still looked decent. He quickly changed into a fresh pair of pants and a shirt, choosing to forego his jacket. He ran a comb through his hair as he rushed out the door and into his car. The drive seemed especially long and boring after how exacting the past few days had been.

 

Paulo purchased from the same man who wisely chose not to comment on his choice of film again. He milled around the lobby for a few minutes before heading upstairs to the theater. The movie still didn’t start for another twenty minutes, but Paulo was anxious to get a seat near the usher. The tall man was already positioned outside the door when he arrived. Paulo locked eyes with the man as he approached and held out his ticket.

 

The man raised his eyebrows and gave a small crooked smile. “Back again?”  he drawled as he gently took Paulo’s ticket from his palm. “Thought it deserved a second chance”. He made confident eye contact with the tall man and he stared back. Like before, they looked at each other for a little longer than what would be considered normal. Finally, Paulo smiled and headed for the back row, but this time he chose a seat closer to where he knew the usher would be. He had no qualms with watching the man do his work for the whole length of time he sat there. The discomfort he caused patrons was clear as they filled the theater. Well, as they filled a few rows. He tried to keep his head faced forward when the man finally took his seat at the end of the row. He seemed zoned out during the trailers, absent mindedly running his hands over the industrial flashlight in his lap. He watched the mans face light up just as bright as the first time when the movie started. _Is he really still going to be as excited as the first time?_

 

As the movie droned on in the background, it was proved that yes, he was still as excited. The man reacted with as much thrill as the first time, maybe even more. Paulo had never found another living person this interesting. The spectacle played out almost exactly as before until someone in the first row tossed his empty popcorn bucket into the seat behind him. Paulo wouldn’t have even noticed it had happened if the mans whole demeanor hadn’t transformed the way it did. His posture straightened, he seemed to stop breathing and his hand visibly tightened around his flashlight. His legs and back straightened, but he held his head low. Paulo rose from his slumped position to watch the man stalk towards the litterer. He wasn’t sure what he said, but it ended with the nervous patron picking the bucket up himself and uncomfortably turned back towards the screen. The usher stared him down for another few moments before giving his flashlight a twirl and striding back to his seat. Paulo had to stifle giggles at the whole scene. _He enjoyed that. He liked reprimanding people._ He almost wished for another incident before the end of the movie. There was something so theatrical about how he handled the problem that it was more entertaining than the movie. Everything about this man was confusing. He was in the lowest position on the film food chain and yet he treated it with the level of dedication that Paulo had for making movies. He almost felt a kinship with this usher. Unfortunately, the rest of the screening went without a hitch.

 

Paulo was the last one to leave the theater. The man turned to face him as he walked towards the exit. He  stopped for just a moment in front of the usher, trying to tempt him into speaking. It worked.  “Well, was it as good as the first time?”

 

He smiled. “Even better”


	13. Chapter 13

Julian was surprised to see the dark haired man a second time. _Is he here to stare at me again or to actually watch the movie?_ It became clear what he was there for when he sat even closer to Julian’s traditional seat than before. He felt almost on edge while he took tickets. He had been invisible for so long that to have someone watch him at all, and then come back again was unsettling.

 

But he tried to pay the man no mind and enjoy the movie as he normally would. Julian could feel the bright eyes of the man glued to him and he almost… liked it. He felt himself exaggerating his reactions just a bit, wanting to entertain his new stalker. It brought back long, long suppressed memories of wanting to be in pictures. All he’d ever had was this theater and her films and it felt natural to him in his youth that he’d one day be a part of them. He acquired this job at The Universal Palace with the distant dream of becoming an actor. Obviously he had hung up those dreams decades ago.

 

He couldn’t resist putting on a bit of a show when he reprimanded the litterbug up front and he could hardly stifle a smile when the mans head slipped up from the back row of seats to watch. Julian felt a twinge of sadness when the screening concluded so smoothly, although it did mean that he’d finally get to see him face to face again. He couldn’t remember a time that he’d been so interested in another person. It was bound to happen in a world where nobody appreciated theaters or what they gave to the world and while this man didn’t seem fascinated by the actual film, at least he appreciated that others were fascinated. Their brief interaction at the exit of the theater was invigorating. He had almost forgotten what it was like to make eye contact that wasn’t met with discomfort.

 

Julian rode the high from his short, but unusually pleasant social interactions. The following week seemed to be almost painfully stagnant. By Thursday his boredom had begun to morph into irritation. His form of customer discipline did more than just improve the theater going experience. It gave him something other than his movies to care about. An outlet for the constant influx of emotions from his theater and his movies.

 

By Friday his irritation had become full body stress. With every screening of the day he became more and more anxious for somebody to misbehave. He would have taken anything, but of course when he wanted it, it never happened.

 

By the ten pm screening, he felt like the tension in his body would break him. Only six people came to the screening. Almost no chance for relief in such a small crowd. The clock struck ten and the trailers began. _Surly one of them won’t know how to act._

 

Julian watched the light from the hall shrink to a sliver in front of him as the door swung shut behind him. Just before the light vanished, the door swung open again. He instinctively flicked on his flashlight to take the latecomers ticket but was pleasantly surprised at who it was. He smiled and aimed his flashlight at his hand. “Ticket please” he whispered as the dark haired man pulled his crumpled ticket stub from his pocket. As had become custom, they made extended eye contact before heading to their respective seats. The man was dressed like he always was, but he looked different. His hair lacked its previous neatness. His eyes were big and he seemed to be fighting to keep a smile off his face. _What could have put him in such a good mood?_

 

He didn’t say anything to Julian, but he sat a few seats closer. There was only four seats separating them this time. If there had been any subtlety  to the mans spying it was gone now. He straightened his hat as he sat down, preparing to end the night on a slightly higher note than he’d expected. It wasn’t what he needed, but the chance to entertain his acquaintance again was a pleasant surprise.

 

This semi performance continued up to the hour mark. It was at this point when a middle aged man, probably drunk, stumbled in through the door and took an aisle seat in the middle of the theater. Julian gave him three minutes. Three minutes to leave. _Surely he must be joking. Nobody could actually believe they could sneak in and not be caught. This late? With the theater this empty?_

 

Julian counted down the seconds. The amount of time was arbitrary, but Julian was a man of rules. In his mind it was always beneficial to have structure in his work. The three minute mark came and went. He straightened his back and marched up to the intruder, quickly blinding him with his flashlight.

 

“Do you have a ticket, sir?” His words came out like a hiss.  The man half heartedly felt in his pockets. “I, uh, I guess I lost it. I swear I bought one.” Julian didn’t buy it for a moment. He placed his free hand on the mans shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Sir, if you can’t produce a ticket then you can’t stay here.” The man sighed in irritation. “Listen, the movies half over anyways. Can’t you cut me some slack?” Julian let a rage filled breath leave his lips. “I’m sorry sir. Without a ticket I can’t ‘cut’ you anything.”

 

He tightened his grip on the intruder’s shirt and gave it a gentle tug upwards. He rolled his eyes and stood up. “Fine, fine. I’ll go”. The usher smiled and used his light to illuminate his own face. “Let me show you out… sir.” Julian shot a momentary smile at his observer as he passed. The man furrowed his brow and folded his hands over his chest and sunk a bit deeper into his seat. He didn’t have time for his admirer right now. He had a much more pressing matter struggling against his left hand.

 

The man tried to walk towards the stairs, but Julian forcefully turned him in the opposite direction. “Isn’t the exit the other way? Come on, can’t we just let this go?” He heard genuine nerves in the trespassers voice.  “Don’t worry; this will only take a moment…” Julian hadn’t even finished his sentence when he flung open the projector room door and shoved him inside. Some days the usher would give his victims a moment or two to ask more questions or try to explain. Sometimes they were funny, but not tonight. The door had only just clicked shut when he lunged at the man, his hands wrapping around his neck. He was considerably taller, giving him an automatic advantage over most people. It was no trouble to force the man onto his back. Julian placed a foot on either side of the thin man and bent down, his grip never loosening on his neck. He clawed at Julian’s arms to no avail. He could overpower anyone for the honor of his theater. He watched the man’s eyes began to roll back into his head. Just before he lost consciousness, Julian let go and straightened his back. The man coughed furiously and clutched at his chest. He used these moments to straighten his hat and tug at his loosened left glove. Before the man had recovered from the beginning of the attack, Julian bent down to retrieve his flashlight. He may have been about to speak, but any possibility of that ended when the ushers industrial flashlight met his mouth. Blood flowed from his mouth, but he wouldn’t have a chance to taste it before the metal struck his forehead. His flailing arms instantly went still, but Julian wasn’t finished. He slammed into his head again and again, releasing his tension in unison with the rule breakers blood. Just as he swung downward for the fifth time, the dim projection was flooded with light. It illuminated the increasingly red floor for both Julian and whoever had finally caught him.

 

His head whipped towards the door, which closed as fast as it opened. The abrupt change in light and the adrenaline pumping through his head caused him to freeze like a deer in the headlights of a truck. It felt like an hour before his eyes adjusted and he realized who had found him. Before him stood his new favorite patron, his hands held in plain view before him like he was calling a truce. _What does he want? What do I do? Who will he tell? Do I have to kill the one person that might be even a little bit interesting?_

 

Julian felt his unease melt away as a devilish grin spread over his guests face. His defensive stance slowly dissolved as he formed a rectangle with his hands and held it in front if his face. Confusion painted Julian’s face at the scene before him. _Is he… framing this?_ The only thing he could associate this pose with was a director framing a shot for a movie.

 

It felt like an eternity before he slowly lowered his arms. Julian felt like a wild animal, hunched over a corpse and covered in blood. The man’s breathing was labored as he slowly came towards the usher. He watched in confusion as he held out his hand, as though for a handshake.

 

“You ought to be in… Pictures.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for joining me! I will be updating with a new chapter each week until the story is complete. I am not yet sure how many chapters there will be.


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